To Catch A Wizard
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: A nine-year-old Minerva waits up eagerly for Father Christmas to arrive, but someone else arrives much to her dismay. Fluff fluff fluff! SlightMMAD.


**A/N:** _Don't blame me; I'm attempting to spread holiday cheer with what I've written last year. (And no, that rhyme came on its own. Shoot me if you will. :D) The inspiration was definitely Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Eve Sarajevo" music video and I highly recommend it. :D Also, a note to those who read; I do have an idea for a continuation of sorts, and if it does need it, please holler. Otherwise, it ends here. :D_

**To Catch A Wizard**

The night was chilled; almost to an inhuman degree, but this frosty air, this inescapable master hand of winter's night could not penetrate the walls within. The tree was trimmed to a fussy degree, judging by its immaculate appearance; with the soft fir emerald of an evergreen, the trees trimmings included odd silver balls, whirring around in circles as though bound by magic. The golden bows almost shimmered like the stars as you passed them by, but this perfect Christmastide scene was incomplete, as it were, or had too much detail. Either way, nothing could explain the small girl kneeling next to a table, her eyes trained upon the plate of cookies beside the roaring fireplace.

She was beautiful for a child; her porcelain face held the innocence of youth, but also that terrible beauty that one holds when he or she does not recognize their own elegance. Her ebony hair was tied back in a tartan ribbon and her bright green eyes were aflame with determination. This was not an ordinary night; tomorrow was Christmas, and this girl was going to see Father Christmas, no matter if she had to stay up all night to see him.

As most late nights go, however, she gradually found herself succumbing to the sweet waves of sleep and just as weariness began to embrace her, she heard a noise coming from the grand staircase in the forefront of her home.

Awake at once, she stood, her arms crossed and her foot tapping wildly; didn't Santa realize that the McGonagall house had a perfectly good _front_ fireplace to slide through? Albeit the fire roaring within it, Minerva was completely certain that he needn't worry about the blazing hearth with all of the rumored magic he held as effortlessly as witches and wizards of her kind. She had never thought of him being a wizard, seeing as Muggle children around the world knew about him, nevertheless, it began to make much more sense. Perhaps he had come from the fireplace in the library…

To her surprise, however, as the doorknob slowly turned, in stepped the man whom she had been dreading to see, with all of his infuriating merriment and the like: Albus Dumbledore. Her father had graciously taken him in as a guest after the Magical Accident Department could not spare his ruined abode, but Minerva firmly believed that the bloody department hadn't tried hard enough. After all, they were surely conspiring against her, and this was simply her father's plot to get her to know the Head of Gryffindor better before she flew off in two seasons' time. This could also be a plot to make her stop believing in such a childish figure, but even so, she was not going to allow said Head of Gryffindor and Transfiguration professor ruin her holiday by mocking her for believing in something so immature.

"I'm surprised to see you still up, Minerva," he addressed in seemingly innocent curiosity, but Minerva was not fooled; she knew better. "Were you too, lured by the scent of Christmas cookies?"

She frowned in agitation at his remark. No matter what she said, he wouldn't leave for a very long time. "I don't eat those ghastly things," she snapped back as she stood taller, proud of her proper word choice.

"And why ever not?" Albus asked in blind interest. "They make one quite content, you know," he began as he glided to the table flanking Minerva. Before he could touch a cookie, however, Minerva slapped his hand.

"Those aren't for you, you know," she said irritably, turning away as she did so and feeling so insignificant. Now the bloody wizard _knew_ the reason for her staying up late. Now he would never see her as someone mature for her age, like her mother complimented her so.

"Ah, yes," Albus said softly, completely unaware of the danger growing beside him. "These are for a man that you seem to know very well, and I'll tell you personally that he will be grateful for your generosity."

Minerva turned to look at him, her anger suddenly stopping short as she finally took in his attire. He was wearing _crimson velvet_ trimmed with snowy-white _fur_. Her wonder filled her exponentially and before she could stop the words, she asked, "You know Santa Claus?"

The man before her roared with hearty laughter, and Minerva was glad the door behind him was sealed tight.

"I _am_ Santa Claus-"

"Liar." Her response was short and flat, and at last the foolish man with the twinkling sapphire eyes sensed his danger and quickly mended the tense atmosphere.

"As I was saying," he began softer still, his gloved hands raised, and Minerva had to concentrate on his lips to catch every word, "I _am_ Father Christmas, or perhaps, a representation of him. I was just about to take a stroll to the orphanage around the bend and pay a visit to those without Christmas this year. Therefore, I felt _justified_ in accepting a Christmas cookie, seeing as I am the man whom you seek."

"You're still not Santa Claus; why must you leave to _those_ children, anyway?" Minerva inquired, her eyes still focused on his red suit, his belt-buckled boots… But no, it couldn't possibly be…

Albus Dumbledore smiled and Minerva unconsciously smiled back as his joy radiated throughout the room. "The children would be happy to receive me as Father Christmas, and I only saw it fit to take the role. You see, Christmas is not about Father Christmas at all, but about spreading joy. You will remember that for me, won't you my dear?"

Minerva nodded; the power of words lost to her as she observed him walk to the fireplace with keen excitement before he tipped his woolly hat to her and stepped within the flames. The flames rapidly vomited emerald, and Minerva watched him completely disappear in a whirlwind of smoke and flames before the room became as it was before. The air suddenly became heavy with sleep at his departure, and Minerva succumbed without realizing it, thinking about the mysterious man who looked so much like Father Christmas.

Upon the man's return over two hours later, what befell his eyes was the little girl fast asleep on the couch in front of the happily crackling fire. With a smile on his face and a soft twinkle in his eye, he reached in the atmosphere and withdrew a generously sized blanket. With endless gentleness, he covered the sleeping Minerva and quietly stepped to the door, resisting the impulse to look back. The battle won, he retreated to the stairs without looking back, never to realize the girl watching him with a look of victory on her face. . . .


End file.
